


(Un)Fortunate Circumstance

by 1think1haveaproblem



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Eliot has some serious issues, Getting Together, Holiday break, I say that but this is actually mostly fluff, I'm playing fast and lose with the canon, M/M, Quentin is slightly less dense about his own sexuality, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2020-08-11 23:24:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20161837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1think1haveaproblem/pseuds/1think1haveaproblem
Summary: While most of the students at Brakebills have somewhere better to be for the winter break, Quentin and Eliot would rather not go home. The two get to know each other a bit better without the distractions the school year brings.





	1. Chapter 1

The music was always just a little bit too loud during the parties at the physical cottage. Upstairs, voices carried through the walls, and a heavy base vibrated the wood floorboards. Quentin lay on his bed, fumbling through the gestures for a silencing charm, repeatedly failing one or two motions before it’s complete. A migraine began to nip at the back of his mind. Losing confidence, he let his hands fall to his bed in defeat. A moment or two passed as he weighed his options. Gaining resolve, Quentin sat up. Stars briefly clouded his vision, but vanished as quickly as they came. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and his feet could feel the all familiar sensation of the floor vibrating beneath them. He stumbled to the door, bracing himself against the frame before opening it. As soon as he did, a wave of music hit him, throwing him off balance and increasing the pounding in his head. Quentin brushed passed couples making out as he descended the steps in search of Eliot. 

Downstairs, colorful lights, that seemed to lack an origin, illuminated the main room. People danced closely and provocatively, many with drinks in their hands. The blood-alcohol level of the room was higher than should be for anyone who wished to still have a functioning liver in their forties. The base beat hit Quentin in pulses, the throbbing of his head matching their pace. 

He stumbled in the direction of the bar, hoping to find Eliot there. The small living room of the cottage was crowded enough that Quentin couldn’t avoid bumping into several people over the short distance. He muttered apologies, but they likely weren’t even heard. Once closer to the bar, Quentin could see Eliot tending it, and something relaxed inside of him. 

“I knew you couldn’t stay away,” Eliot called out as Quentin approached. “Pick your poison. ”

“I’m not here for a drink,” he replied as he leaned closer to be able to better hear over the blaring problem that brought him downstairs in the first place.“I can’t get the silencing charm to work. Please come and help me, it’ll only take you a minute,” Quentin pleaded.

“You exasperate me, Q,” Eliot sighed as he leaned on the bar, matching Quentin’s posture. “I don’t know how you could possibly want to miss all this.” He made a small gesture to the room.

“Please,” Quentin all but begged.

“Suit yourself.” Eliot pushed off the bar and walked around, brushing against Quentin as he passed. They weaved their way through the crowd and ascended the stairs. 

“I have to say,” Eliot started when they reach Quentin’s room, “I thought once I finally got alone in a room with a man tonight, I’d be using the silencing charm for a very different reason.”

“The night’s still young, El. You’ll find someone,” Quentin assured him as he laid back on the bed and shuts his eyes. A few moments passed and the room fell silent. 

“Thank you,” Quentin exhaled.

“Don’t mention it,” Eliot murmured before returning to the party.

Back downstairs, the party was still very much alive. Eliot’s absence from the bar didn’t go unnoticed. When he returned, a small crowd of students had formed, excited for another round of what can only lead to later regret. Eliot mixed them drinks and they left for the dance floor. As night slowly turned into morning, people paired off and the party died out. Eliot found himself in his own room and his own bed, alone.

Morning came far too early, but Eliot drudged out of bed anyway. He went through his morning routine like a trance, showering, blow-drying his hair, and combing in the gel. Once he was satisfied with his appearance, he made his way to the kitchen. Eliot has always been a good cook, and greatly enjoys making elaborate breakfasts, even if there’s hardly anyone to share them with. He was dicing fruit when Quentin groggily plopped down on a barstool. 

“Pancakes?” Eliot offered.

“Thank you,” Quentin replied genuinely. Eliot smiled. Quentin’s sincerity was something by which Eliot was endlessly, and equally, enthralled and perplexed. Shaking the thoughts from his head, Eliot poured himself a mimosa.

Quentin took large and hurried bites. More than once he praised Eliot for his work, though how he managed to do that without pausing from eating and not choking was almost as impressive as Eliot’s ability to make out what he said in the first place. Eliot called him a heathen as he brushed off the compliments, but wasn’t appalled enough by Quentin’s lack of manners not to revel in the attention anyway. 

“Where is everybody?” Quentin finally asked as he set down his fork on an empty plate.

“Probably sleeping it off somewhere,” Eliot half-heartedly replied. Noticing it was already creeping past noon, Eliot amended his answer. “Although, I’m sure a fair portion have already left for the holiday break. Campus will be almost entirely empty by nightfall.”

“When are you leaving?” Quentin asked, a tinge of disappointment lacing his question.

“My dear Q, I’m not going anywhere.” With that, Quentin’s whole face seemed to light up. Eliot filed the fluttering feeling it gave him under things best thought about later, or never at all. Though he was confident he knew the answer, Eliot asked anyway, “Will you be gracing Brakebills with your presence over Christmas break as well?”

“Yeah, I…” Quentin paused as he grasped for the right words. “The world out there hasn’t been particularly kind to me, and I don’t think I’m quite ready to face it for extended periods of time.” A pang of sympathy hit Eliot in the chest. After everything that has happened to Quentin over the course of the last semester, Eliot knew exactly what he meant.

“Well, good for me then. It’ll be nice to not be alone this break.”

A smile played at Quentin’s lips and his eyes softened. “I’m glad I could be the one to keep you company.”

A warm rush of affection filled Eliot. He really was grateful to have Quentin staying with him over the break, and he was determined to make the most of it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how I ended up writing a Christmas fic in August but here we are...

Quentin and Eliot had spent the first day and a half of break cleaning the cottage. The after-effects of parties under normal circumstances were quite atrocious, but they didn’t even hold a light to what was left in the wake of one of the end of term celebrations. This one had been no different. On its surface, most of what turned the cottage into something quite shameful was just trash and abandoned drinks from last night’s festivities, and though unappealing as that was to clean up, it’s not where the real work lay. What had kept the boys up half the night and busy well into the next evening was the wear and tear and collection of stains the cottage accumulated over the course of the semester. College students were not particularly well known for their housekeeping abilities, and the students of Brakebills were no different. Aside from the damage half a year of partying has done, there was also the spell damage and burn marks that clumsy or incompetent casting had left that needed to be dealt with. 

The original bitterness Eliot felt towards most of his classmates for not being there to help him and Quentin with any of the work dissipated as the end drew near and he could see the tangible results of his efforts. Eliot always liked when things were put together, whether it be his own facade or his living arrangements. Though the Dean is loath to admit it, the driving reason behind the immaculate maintenance of the maze is that one summer Eliot had taken it upon himself to transform the maze into its current glory from the shabby structure it was previously, and it was too shameful for the school to be outdone by a bored student. 

When the last disfigured floorboard had been replaced, Eliot and Quentin finally collapsed onto the couch, the former already reaching for a drink.

“So what are your plans going forward, now that the cottage is a suitable living arrangement once more?” Eliot questioned after he took a swig of an amber-colored liquor. 

Quentin let out an exhausted sigh. “At this point, I could probably sleep for the next week straight.”

Eliot turned and looked Quentin dead in the eyes. “I am not about to let your break be so boring you want to sleep through all of it.”

Another sigh. “Then what do you have in mind for me, Oh Wise One?”

Eliot leaned closer, eyeing Quentin in a way that he knew would make him squirm in the most delightful sort of way. “You mock, but deep down you know it’s true. There’s so much you don’t know; so much I could teach you.” His voice was low and inviting. 

Quentin predictably writhed on the couch, trying to put some distance between himself and Eliot as a flush crept up his cheeks. Eliot burst out laughing as a result, deep and genuine. After taking an elbow to the ribs from Quentin, Eliot managed to compose himself.

“I’m sorry, but it’s just too much fun to tease you! But in all seriousness, I was thinking we could go shopping tomorrow; it’s more fun to do with someone than alone.” 

Quentin was quiet for a minute while he mulled the question over. When he finally did open his mouth to reply, Eliot was almost certain he was going to try and decline, but instead Quentin surprised him. “Sure, what time will we be leaving?”

Eliot’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “You best wake up at seven, if we don’t get an early start it will undoubtedly take all day.”

  
  


Quentin sighs as he emerges from the dressing room. “Do we really have to do this?” He had started the day under the impression that Eliot intended to shop exclusively for himself; that was not the case. They had been to three different stores so far that morning, and Eliot had yet to even try anything on.

“Quentin, darling, I will simply not put up with the Brooklin homeless vibe you seem to love so much.”

“My clothes aren’t that bad,” he retorts.

“Quit your protesting,” Eliot commanded as he waved his hand dismissively. “Besides, this is my Christmas gift to you. Now don’t be rude, smile, and say thank you.” 

Quentin’s face shifted from annoyed to grateful then to a sort of guilty look that Eliot did not like one little bit. “I didn’t get anything for you,” he finally managed, his eyes downcast. Eliot’s stomach tightened into a knot.

“Quentin dear, the point of giving a gift is not because you expect one in return.” Seeing Quentin relax at his words drew some of the tension out of Eliot. He continued with more levity, “Though seeing you dress like a proper adult would be as much as a gift to me as these clothes are to you.” 

Eliot’s words drew a laugh from Quentin as he disappeared back into the dressing room. Quentin tried on three more outfits that Eliot had picked out for him at that store, a light gray button-down and navy slacks, a dark purple button-down and charcoal slacks, and a deep green button-down, with the same slacks, though that time with a matching waistcoat. He looked absolutely stunning on all of it, but Eliot exercised what he considered to be a massive amount of self-restraint and only bought the last two outfits. The day was still young.

They visited another two stores where Eliot found a burgundy shirt and a navy shirt that he decided Quentin needed to have along with a pair of soft gray trousers. After those additions, they agreed to take a short break for lunch. Quentin was growing apprehensive at how much Eliot was buying, but the older boy wasn’t through with him just yet. Quentin’s protests were mostly limited to sulking glances and guilty expressions at the moment, so Eliot figured he could get away with just a little more. Three more stores and one cozy looking, yet put together pullover sweater later and Eliot was almost ready to call it a day. He hadn’t tried on more than three things himself, and decided against all of them.

“You’re doing so well, Q. Just one more store, then we can head back,” Eliot assured him.

“Whatever you say.” A smile made its way to Quentin’s lips. He sounded less exhausted, probably from knowing the end was in sight.

“The last thing on the list is ties,” Eliot informed him.

“I have ties,” came his skeptical response.

“While that may  _ technically _ be true, I highly suggest you burn them,”

“But I like my ties-”

“I don’t care. Those ties and I both need to be put out of our suffering. I even know a spell that could do it. I can show you when we get back.” Eliot was far from joking and really did hope Quentin would retire a fair bit of his wardrobe now, starting with his ties.

“Nothing from my closet is going to be set aflame!”

Eliot sighed in defeat. “At least consider it,” he pleaded.

Quentin rolled his eyes, but dropped the argument.

Twenty minutes and quite a bit of bickering later they had a new tie and departed for Brakebills.

  
  


Quentin was downright exhausted when they got back to the cottage. He managed to make it to the couch in the living room before collapsing. Eliot crouched down next to him. Something light and teasing was on the tip of his tough but he stopped himself before it got past his lips, seeing how sweet and defenseless Quentin looked as he drifted off to sleep. Eliot opted instead to run a hand through Quentin’s soft hair. The younger boy hummed appreciatively, and Eliot wondered if he even realized he did so. He felt something tighten in his chest which he promptly ignored as he rose and gathered the shopping bags from that day. 

He ascended the stairs towards his own room to place the purchases, as he decided that he wanted to give them to Quentin on Christmas, even though Quentin already knew exactly what he was getting. And since he now intended to wrap and place these presents underneath a Christmas tree, they would now need to acquire a Christmas tree. In fact, Eliot wanted the whole cottage to look significantly more festive. Christmas was still a week and a half away. Since most students left Brakebills for the winter holidays, the cottage and the rest of the campus never got decorated for them, but since Eliot wouldn’t be spending it alone this year, he decided he wanted the festivities. 

After setting on the idea of having a proper Christmas with Quentin, Eliot felt nervous excitement.  Eliot couldn’t remember the last time he had a happy Christmas. He spent so many in recent memory alone, and before that with a family that couldn’t tolerate him. He wondered if he could finally have a Christmas without tears. His chest tightened again as he thought about how grateful he was to have Quentin here with him, but with that comfort came a bitter voice in the back of his mind.  _ It’s pathetic to need someone here to console you.  _ And  _ if Quentin realized just how much of a mess you are, he’d leave you too.  _

Eliot swallowed hard and told himself he didn’t believe those thoughts. He tugged on his waistcoat and straightened his tie, looked in the mirror, and gave a sharp nod. Catching a glimpse of the time, he let out a shaky breath. It was getting to the point where he should start making dinner for Quentin and himself, a very welcome distraction.

He let Q sleep as long as he could, but once everything was plated he wasn’t about to let the food get cold, no matter how peaceful Quentin looked as he slept.

After dinner, Eliot had lit a fire and curled up on the couch, spiked hot chocolate in hand. Though the weather was off at Brakebill's, it was starting to get chilly during the day, and downright cold at night, though it would take a seriously competent nature student for there to be a white Christmas. Regardless of the lack of snow, the holiday-appropriate fire and drinks felt nice and cozy that evening. Quentin settled in on the other end of the couch and light and easy conversation with Eliot. The topics drifted from academics, finals, the spellwork Quentin would be doing next semester to Eliot’s plans to decorate the cottage in the coming days. Before they knew it, hours had passed, the fire was dying, and Eliot couldn’t go more than a few minutes without yawning. Giving in to his exhaustion, he bid goodnight to Quentin and made his way to his room, the alcohol from his hot cocoas making him feel warm, light and content.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, at least it's now seasonally appropriate for this to be a Christmas fic...

Eliot got an early start the next morning. He had gotten up, ate breakfast, ventured into the storage room on campus, retrieved a dozen or so bins of holiday decorations and assembled a tree by the time Quentin stumbled downstairs. 

“Good morning, Q!” Eliot greeted. “There’s waffles and diced fruit in the kitchen if you’re hungry, though I’m sure it’s cold by now.”

“Thanks…” Quentin groggily replied as he weaved his way around half-open bins. He disappeared behind a stack of totes overflowing with garlands of tinsel and a few minutes later emerged from the kitchen. He nudged a dreidel to the side as he took a seat at the dining room table with his breakfast. “Where did all this come from? I didn’t know Brakebills had so many holiday decorations.” 

Eliot popped up from behind a mound of wreaths and garland. “The school has accumulated quite a bit over the years, most of it at the behest of zealous students. There’s a storage room on campus that has all sorts of fun stuff, though I’d be careful when venturing in there, it’s a little hard to find your way out.”

Quentin nodded at the advice and took a stab at his waffle. “Okay, but if Brakebills has all this stuff, why wasn’t any of it put up sooner?”

“Well, the college doesn’t typically do much for decorating, it usually just the works of particularly festive students, but with the rather… eventful semester we had, I think it was hard for people to get into the holiday spirit,” Eliot reasoned. “No matter, now it can be something just between us - and any of the other lonely students who stuck around.”

“Why did you stay at Brakebills for the winter holidays?” Quentin asked, then looked as he almost regretted the question, probably thinking of his own less than cheerful reasons for staying.

Eliot signed and set down the stockings he had been hanging. He took a seat on the corner of the couch nearest him. “Christmas is a holiday for family, and happiness. Those two things are mutually exclusive for me - like being my father’s son, and being gay. I don’t want to have to tip-toe around, bite my tongue, or outright pretend to be something I’m not. They’re not worth it. It’s better to spend the holiday alone than with them.”

Quentin got up from where he was at the dining room table, leaving behind his half-finished waffle and made his way across the decoration filled living room to Eliot. He took a seat on a nearby unopened plastic tote and gave Eliot a comforting smile. “You won’t be alone this year; you’ll be spending Christmas with someone who cares about you.”

Despite the heaviness in his chest, Eliot found himself smiling back at Quentin. “Thanks Q, for being here.”

“It’s my pleasure. Now, which of these boxes has tree ornaments in them?”

Eliot let out a shaky laugh and pointed Quentin in the direction of the boxes in question. 

They spent the rest of the day decorating the cottage and some of the surrounding campus and by evening, and had quite a lot to show for their efforts. All of the common rooms had garlands of tinsel and string lights strung up on the walls and paper snowflakes hanging in the windows. The dining room had a red poinsettia patterned table runner, a yule log centerpiece with red and green candles, and mistletoe hanging from the arch that connected the room to the kitchen, which itself was smelling of gingerbread. The living room was a point of pride with the two boys. The tree sparkled almost magically with soft white lights, reflecting beautifully off the shiny glass ornaments and red and gold tinsel, and star on the top of the tree very nearly brushed the ceiling. Beneath it was an embroidered tree skirt and the presents Eliot had gotten Quentin. Plush blankets and holiday themed pillows were scattered amongst the couches. A large wreath hung above the fireplace, decorated with ribbons and berries. The mantle held stockings with Quentin and Eliot’s names, as well as small holiday trinkets. A charm was placed on the fire so it burned without consuming the logs. 

Outside of the cottage Christmas lights framed the roof and decorated several surrounding trees. Another wreath hung on the front door. The outside of a few other buildings on campus were decorated in a similar manner. After spending an hour or so researching in the library, they were able to find a spell that wouldn’t be too tricky for snowmen that wouldn’t melt before the new year, and shortly after there was a small army of them across the campus.

After a long day of work, Quentin settled in on the couch and Eliot brought over two cups of cocoa and some Irish cream. "You look like you could use a drink," Eliot announced.

"I think you would say that regardless of how I look," Quentin countered.

"Maybe," Eliot conceded, "but that doesn't make it less true in this instance. Here,” he offered him a cup, “it’s my favorite holiday drink, far better than eggnog and rum. This tastes like childhood only better, and it can get you tipsy.” 

“Thanks,” Quentin laughed, and took a sip. “You’re right; it does taste like childhood.”

“Of course I’m right,” Eliot automatically responded. He received an elbow to the ribs for his arrogance. He winced in response but laughed when Quentin exclaimed that it was completely justified. Eliot actually agreed; he loved it when Quentin would push back a little at his antics. Eliot held such fondness in his eyes as he turned to face Quentin. 

Quentin’s expression had shifted into something more serious. His gaze was somewhere between himself and Eliot, and his mouth was slightly parted in the way that indicated there was a question he wasn’t sure if he wanted to ask. After a moment of contemplation, it looks like his curiosity got the better of him and he decided to go through with asking, “What was your childhood like, El?”

Eliot let out a rough sigh, “Well it wasn’t great, but…” he searched for the right words as he carded through memories. “The younger years were better. There were fewer expectations for me to fail to meet. Adolescence was when it started to get rough. It’s not like I don’t have happy memories, but I think that the bad probably outweigh the good from the teenage years. Between the bullying at school and the anger at home... I was pretty fucked up by the time I got to Brakebills - and I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but the psychiatric care here leaves something to be desired.” He paused for a moment then decided he didn’t want to leave it on that particular note. “But I am better than I was before, despite how low of a bar that may be.” A marginally better note to leave it on.

Quentin shifted closer. “I hope that one day in the not so distant future you can make the statement ‘I’m better’ without quite so many qualifiers.”

Eliot let out a genuine laugh. Quentin laughed too and reached out to Eliot, his hand coming to a rest on Eliot’s knee. “God, I hope so too, Quentin,” Eliot laughed as he shook his head. He lay his free hand on top of Quentin’s and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It’d be nice to be not so fucked up.”

“Tell me about one of your good childhood memories,” Quentin asked, taking advantage of the somewhat unfitting light-hearted mood. 

“Well,” Eliot sighed as one does when beginning to reminisce, “when I was six years old, believe it or not, all I wanted for Christmas was this yellow, metal, dump truck. You laugh, but I’m not sure if I ever wanted anything else more in my life. Little kids have such single-minded devotion. Their world can begin and end with a yellow dump truck on page 12 of the Mills FleetFarm Christmas catalog. Kids are wonderful and stupid; they should be protected and not trusted with anything. Such sweet and ignorant little creatures. But anyway, I begged and begged for that dump truck. I think I managed to get my mother to take me to see Santa Clause three times that year, just so I could be  _ really _ certain he’d bring me that dump truck. Then Christmas morning came, and I tore into my presents under the tree, and low and behold, my parents got me that dump truck. I loved that thing. I spent so many hours out digging in the sandbox with it. When I was a bit older, and I reached the point where I didn’t really play with toys, I gave the dump truck to my little cousin for Christmas. You should have seen his face. He couldn’t have been much older than 3, the thing was almost as big as he was. It was the only gift I saw him play with that day, he loved it as much as I did. Looking back, I think my aunt and uncle were a bit jealous that he loved this scuffed up pre-owned truck more than any of the expensive gifts they had gotten him.” Eliot’s eyes twinkled as he told the story.

“Little kids are something else,” Quentin remarked. “Last year my second cousin turned two. He got loads of presents from all the family, including some great big stuffed animal in a great big box, and he spent the rest of the party playing with the great big box. I’ve never seen anyone happier.” Quentin smiled brightly before taking a sip of his alcoholic hot chocolate. 

“What about you? Apart from  _ Fillory _ , what happy childhood stories do you have?” Eliot prompted.

“ _ Apart from  _ Fillory,” Quentin repeated insincerely scandalized. “Eliot, you aren’t giving me much to work with here.”

“Take your time, I have all night,” Eliot smiled and shifted a bit closer as he got more comfortable.

“Well, let’s see…” Quentin tapped his fingers on the side of his mug as he thought. “Oh, the summer after second grade my parents sent me to some camp with horses. I didn’t want to lose or damage any of my  _ Fillory _ books so I left them at home. The horse I rode was named Saratoga and she was majestic. Before my parents left, I remember thinking I’d be lonely, but there was a really outgoing kid in my group who instantly took a liking to me, and well, just about everyone I suppose. I bet that kid never met anyone who didn’t like him. Anyways, we got along really well, I had a lot of fun that week.” Quentin took a sip of his hot chocolate to indicate that was where his story ended. 

“I can just imagine little Q, all excited about the horses, but even more excited because probably, for a second, you mistook one of them for a unicorn,” Eliot teased.

“I never said that out loud to anyone,” Quentin laughed, “but you’re right, there were several times where for just a moment I could have sworn I saw a horn.” Quentin raised his voice as he continued to be able to speak over Eliot’s laughter, “I wasn’t crazy, mind you, it was just a not seeing clearly, and when I did see clearly I knew they were just horses.”

“Of course, of course,” Eliot agreed. “But fantasy crazed little Q just couldn’t help but see magical things wherever you went. That’s so precious.” 

Somewhere along the way Eliot and Quentin had shifted even closer to each other. Quentin’s folded legs bumped into Eliot’s and sides were pressed together. Eliot laid his head onto Quentin’s shoulder after he finished giggling over the downright adorableness of Quentin’s childhood self. Quentin looped his arm around Eliot and softly ran his hand along Eliot’s upper arm. 

“You seem tired,” he remarked after a few minutes.

“A little, but this is nice,” Eliot drowsily replied.

Quentin rested his head against Eliot’s. “You should probably go to bed. I don’t want you to fall asleep and wake up with a kink in your neck.”

Eliot hummed. “Tell me another happy childhood story first.”

“Give me a minute to think of one.”

“Take all the time in the world.” Eliot was perfectly content where he was, he wouldn’t have cared if Quentin took the rest of Christmas break.

After a few minutes of contemplation, Quentin decided to recount his memories of going to the circus for the first time when he was seven. He vividly remembered an elephant, and the trapeze artists and told of the glittery costumes they wore. The whole story was wrapped in glistening adjectives, and Eliot could feel the room shimmer through his description of it. 

Quentin's story came to an end but Eliot made no sign of moving. “Okay, El; you should probably head to bed and get some sleep,” Quentin prompted.

“That would be for the best,” Eliot conceded, but remained exactly where he was.

“El,” Quentin repeated.

“Okay, you’re right,” Eliot sighed as he rose to bring their empty mugs to the kitchen. A minute later he returned and he and Quentin headed up the stairs and down the hall. When the reached the point where their paths split, they bid one another goodnight. Eliot lay down in his bed that night thinking about the happy memories he did have, and how this Christmas break was among them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to those of you who are following this story. You have my apologies for taking so long to post this. I started this chapter back in August before classes started, and I've neglected it until Thanksgiving break. I'm not sure if I can promise a conclusion to this before the end of the semester, but once finals are over I will be able to write more. 
> 
> Again, I'm so sorry to any of you who are following this story for taking so long to post!


	4. Chapter 4

When Eliot woke Christmas morning, it was to the shaking of his shoulder and a dark room. 

“Wake up, El, it’s Christmas!” Quentin whispered to him.

Eliot let out a disoriented groan. “What time is it anyway, Q?”

“That doesn’t matter, it’s Christmas!” the younger man laughed. Eliot felt a smile tug at his lips, Quentin’s excitement seemed to be contagious.

“Okay, okay, I’m getting up,” he conceded.

“Perfect,” came Quentin’s reply as he tugged on Eliot’s hand. “Come downstairs, I made waffles. Eliot grabbed his dressing gown off the back of a chair as he let himself be pulled out of his room. He wrapped the robe around himself as he got his arm back when they descended the stairs. The living room was lit up from the Christmas tree and various string lights they had placed around the room. The grandfather clock in the corner answered Eliot’s previous question, as it softly chimed 6:30. Eliot followed Quentin over to the dining room table where their breakfast was laid out, a stack of waffles, a bowl of whipped cream, and some mixed fruit.

“Q, you shouldn’t have,” Eliot said in slight awe.

“This isn’t nearly half as elaborate as what you’ve made almost every day. Consider it repaying the favor.”

“You still didn’t have to-”

“No, but I wanted to.” With that, Eliot ceased his protests and simply enjoyed the meal, which was absolutely lovely. 

Once their dishes had been placed in the sink to be dealt with later, the boys settled down on the floor in front of the Christmas tree they had so wonderfully decorated only a few days prior. 

“What’s this?” Eliot asked as he noticed the small blue box that he was sure was not one of the gifts he had for Quentin.

“Open it,” Quentin told him, passing the gift to Eliot. Eliot felt his heart do a little flutter at the excitement as he opened the gift.

“Quentin, how’d you manage to get this thing working again?” Eliot gasped, as he stared down at what had previously been his favorite, but broken, watch. About a month prior, the watch had stopped working. Quentin took interest in it when Eliot went to discard it, so he gave it to him without a second thought. “I’d tried three different mending charms on it before I gave it to you,” Eliot puzzled.

“My uncle ran a watch repair shop. I’ve been tinkering with it for a few days now and was able to fix the problem. I would have gotten to it sooner, but I really didn’t have the time to look at it until break,” Quentin replied, his gaze cast to the side. 

Eliot pulled Quentin into a hug as he thanked him. Eliot fastened the watch to his wrist and reached out for one of the gift boxes to pass to Quentin. Neither one of them was surprised at any of the gifts, though Quentin smiled and laughed as he opened each package.

“Now get upstairs and get dressed in some of your new clothes!” Eliot told him once they were finished.

“I think you’re more excited about my gift than I am,” Quentin laughed.

“Why of course! You knew that already. Besides, I’m the one who has to look at you all day.”

“You don’t actually have to spend your time staring at me,” Quentin teased as they headed upstairs.

“Oh dear Q, you are so very wrong sometimes,” Eliot said with a smirk. Quentin turned away quickly, but not before Eliot caught sight of the blush creeping up on Quentin’s face.

Over thirty minutes later, Eliot returned downstairs, finished with his morning routine and his hair perfectly gelled. Quentin was waiting for him on the couch, dressed in the new dark emerald shirt and gray slacks - it looks stunning, and Eliot couldn’t help but think it would look even better on his bedroom floor. Eliot headed past Quentin and into the kitchen to get himself something to drink. He noticed Q had brewed a pot of coffee, but Quentin reached for something a bit stronger, it was the holidays, after all, it’s not like there were any obligations he had to meet.

“Starting off a little early with that, don’t you think?” Quentin questioned as he saw Eliot bringing his choice of liquor over to the couch.

“My dear Q, is the really anything we need to do today?” Eliot asked, with a look in his eyes that was just daring Quentin to try and object again.

The younger man laughed and shook his head. “Alright, I’ll concede that for today, but if I find you doing this again over break, we’ll need to talk.” Eliot did his best to look unfazed by the comment.

The two of them spent most of the day on the pleasant side of not sober and they told stories back and forth, listening to their favorite Christmas songs. Eliot had made a chicken dish for dinner, which he paired with wine far too good for Quentin to properly appreciate. 

After dinner, the lights died down and their drinking picked up. They found themselves tangled up against each other on the couch, laughing at stories that probably didn’t warrant their level of enthusiasm. Eliot was halfway through a grand hand gesture to punctuate the point he was making when his glass of Irish cream flew out of his hand. Quentin winced and Eliot gasped at the shattering of the glass. Stupidly, Eliot went to pick up the broken glass with his hand and recoiled when he sliced his palm open.

“Eliot!” Quentin sounded both exasperated and worried as he reached out and grabbed Eliot’s wrist. “That… doesn’t look too good,” he sighed anxiously. Let me help you clean the cut and see how bad it is. Here,” Quentin helped steady Eliot as he brought him to a bathroom with a first aid kit. Quentin seemed remarkably sober, and Eliot realized that he probably had cut back on his own alcohol consumption when Eliot had started to get a bit tipsy. 

It stung to have the cut rinsed out and antibiotic applied, but Eliot sat as still as he could as Quentin fussed, hoping Q wouldn’t notice the other scars near the fresh, accidental, cut. “It doesn’t look all that deep,” Quentin finally concluded before he began to wrap Eliot’s palm. “You’ll probably be just fine with just a bandage.” Quentin’s eyes still held a bit of worry, but the ferrule in his brow relaxed some.

“Thank you,” Eliot sighed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Quentin asked. Eliot wished he didn’t know what that vague statement was referring to, he wished his secrets could remain his own.

“Right now I just want to get some sleep.” Which wasn’t wholly unreasonable, given the hour.

“Okay, but I think we should talk in the morning.” Quentin’s suggestion didn’t sound the most appealing, but Eliot gave a small nod despite himself.

Quentin finished getting Eliot to bed and was turning to leave his room when Eliot reached out for Quentin’s wrist. “Stay,” he pleaded in a small voice. “Please don’t leave, Q.”

“Okay,” Quentin gave in. “Just-” he seemed to cut himself off as he was thinking. He let out a deep sigh as he began to unbutton his shirt and kick off his pants, then climbed into bed beside Eliot. Eliot’s uninjured hand found Quentin’s and he laced their fingers together and gave a squeeze. Quentin brought their hands up to his face and gave a lightly kissed back of Eliot’s. “Go to sleep, we’ll worry about things in the morning.”

Between Quentin’s reassuring presence and all the alcohol Eliot had had that night, he drifted off to sleep quite quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I find myself apologizing for taking so long to update this, and I feel especially guilty for such a short chapter... I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. The last concluding chapter will be up in a timely manner, I swear!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize that this is so short, trust me, we both wish I was more talented than I am.

Early morning sunlight came peering in through Eliot’s bedroom windows, casting a soft glow across his bed, and shadows around the room. Eliot woke with a dull ache behind his eyes, reminding him of some of the more regretful decisions of the previous night. Much to his comfort and surprise, he also found Quentin still lying next to him. 

“Hey,” Quentin whispered, his voice still laced with sleep.

“You’re still here?” Eliot couldn’t help but say.

“Yeah.” Quentin cupped Eliot’s face with one hand and brushed his cheek with his thumb. Eliot brought his own hand up and laid it on Quentin’s. “We should change that,” Quentin commented, addressing the bandage.

Eliot instinctively pulled his hand away. He tried for a light and teasing tone as he said, “Anyone ever tell you you know how to ruin a moment.”

Quentin managed a small laugh. “Might come as hard to believe, but I often don’t find myself in moments to ruin,” Quentin countered.

“Probably because you’re too dense to realize they were moments,” Eliot further teased.

“I’m not too dense about everything,” Quentin assured him before he leaned in and softly kissed Eliot’s lips. Eliot could hear his pulse race as Quentin pulled away. Quentin cast one more look towards Eliot's hand, but this time without comment. “I’m going to go get dressed and make breakfast though, now that you’re up.”

“How long were you awake?” he found himself asking.

“Not too long.” 

Quentin got up and crossed the room. He turned to face Eliot when he reached the door. “I’ll have waffles ready in thirty minutes.”

"Okay, I'll be down," Eliot confirmed, and with a nod, Quentin left. Eliot finally sat up, utterly in shock at the events that just transpired. Questions began to race through his mind as he contemplated the fact Quentin had not only stayed through the night, but kissed him. Returning to the real world, he got up and got dressed. 

Eliot found the energy in him to go through his morning routine, though he was running mostly on autopilot from the moment he opened the closet doors. He nonetheless ended up downstairs thirty minutes later wearing a deep blue vest, his hair perfectly gelled, and a fresh bandage on his right palm. Despite the time he had, his thoughts were no less scattered, and he was not more ready to hold a real conversation.

“Hey,” Quentin greeted when Eliot sat down on a barstool across the counter from where he was slicing fruit. 

“Hey,” Eliot meekly replied. Quentin set a waffle down in front of Eliot. “Thanks.”

“Want any strawberries?” 

“That would be lovely, Q.” Quentin pushed the strawberries off of his cutting board and into a bowl with his knife and set them by Eliot’s plate. Quentin grabbed his own waffle and sat down at the barstool to Eliot’s right. They ate in companionable silence; Quentin waiting for Eliot to make the first move, and Eliot busying himself with the food he had in front of him. 

When they were finished Quentin cleared the plates and they moved to the couch. When Eliot sat down, his knee touched Quentin’s. Eliot still wasn’t able to meet Quentin’s gaze just yet.

“I want to thank you for what you did last night, for helping me and for… staying. It… meant a lot to me.”

“Eliot, I care about you a great deal,” Quentin replied, his hand coming to rest atop Eliot’s knee. “There are very few things I wouldn’t do for you.” He sounded so earnest, making it hard for Eliot to doubt his conviction.

“Q, I might be more broken than you realize.”

“I don’t think you give me enough credit, El.”

Eliot let a moment of silence stretch on between them. He finally met Quentin’s gentle, concerned gaze, and all his worries began to tumble out of him. “What if it never gets better? What if I screw this up like I’ve done so many times before? What if you’re wrong, and you can’t handle my crazy?” Quentin had the audacity to actually scoff at that, but before he can comment, Eliot continued, “What if between the two of us, there’s just too much crazy in this relationship?” He paused for a moment, his voice quiet when he continued, “What if when you leave me I can’t find the strength to pick up the broken pieces?”

Quentin’s hands found their way to Eliot’s. He wasn’t crying yet, but he looked like he might be close to tears. When he replied, his voice was shaky, “But what if it does get better, El? You can’t subject yourself to isolation from people who care about you out of fear of the worst possible outcome. We can take things at whatever pace you can handle. It’s not like I just fell for you yesterday; I’ve loved you for quite a while, and you’ve managed not to scare me away yet. Things can get better. I’m not saying it won’t have its challenges, we might take one step forward and two steps back, but just because you might face setbacks doesn’t mean you wouldn’t make progress.”

“You… You really love me?” Eliot asked hesitantly, like he was afraid that repeating the declaration would make Quentin realize he had been mistaken.

It didn’t, Quentin only reaffirmed the statement, “Yeah, El; I do. So you think you could give me the chance to show that to you?”

“I love you too, Q.” Eliot felt the need to say it, to make sure Quentin knew he felt the same as he did.

Quentin smiled at the confession. Eliot felt something akin to hope rising in him.

“I- you really think we can do this?” Eliot asked.

“I think giving it a shot beats the alternative,” Quentin replied. Eliot found himself able to give a weak smile in response. “There’s only one way to find out, El. But yes, I do think we can do this.”

Eliot curled into Quentin's side. “Okay, I think I’m going to have to trust you on this one,” he conceded. 

Quentin let out a small laugh as his hand came up and threaded itself in Eliot’s hair. “Thanks, I’ll endeavor to not let you down.”

The two of them stayed there, tangled up together on the couch for quite some time. Eventually though, they felt the weight of responsibilities tugging at them and decided to finally really begin the day. Eliot knew what lied ahead of them wasn’t going to be easy, relationships never were. While he had a great deal of experience with the types of relationships that began on the dance floor of a club, and end as the sunlight peeked through a bedroom window, his experience with the kind that began with sincere love confessions was notably lacking. He had his heart broken once or twice, and he didn’t like to put himself in the position for that to happen again. He liked to think he had good reason to keep himself walled off, that his perfectly constructed facade was part of what helped keep him safe. Quentin, however, had been slowly but surely deconstructing all of the walls Eliot had erected around himself. When someone has that type of patient determination, it warrants giving them a chance. 

Eliot was sure there would be many sleepless nights in their future, where more tears and secrets would be spilled. But with those nights came the promise of catharsis, that things would get better. It’s not like Eliot didn’t want to work through his issues. He had been trying, he really had. The scars were more faded now than they had ever been, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t still broken. He was still nervous that there would be too many problems for the relationship to be able to hold itself together. He certainly had doubts in his own ability to be able to be a rock for Quentin when he needed it, and Eliot knew there would be many times Quentin would need that. 

But they managed to make it this far, didn’t they? They were good for each other, and they had been helping each other. That wasn’t going to change just because the other now knew the extent of their feelings. Eliot was hopeful that they might somehow be able to make this work, that something would be able to go right for him. He was committed to trying to face whatever problems would arise, and to take the relationship one step at a time, just as Quentin had promised. For now, though, he wanted to enjoy the time he had alone with Quentin, before the start of the new semester, and the onslaught of all the new worries it would bring. For now, he would let himself feel hopeful, and perhaps that could be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was the story! This has been a long time in the making; I posted the first chapter back in August, but I had originally started it close to three years ago. Thank you to everyone who stuck with my less than consistent uploading schedule, and everyone who left comments and kudos; it means a lot to me to know that people liked the story I had to tell!

**Author's Note:**

> I really love this ship. Back when the first season had just hit Netflix and the fandom was just starting out, I had read nearly every work that was posted for them here. Back then, there were only around 70 fics for the ship, so it's amazing to see how much the fandom has grown. I, however, haven't kept up with the show much since those days, and as a result, I don't have any more stories I feel the need to tell with these two. I do still love thee two though, so if you have any ideas or requests for fics you'd like to see, let me know in the comments! :)


End file.
